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<SPAN name="chap43"></SPAN> <h3>Chapter Forty Three.</h3> <h4>Tracking the Trundle.</h4> <p>Yes, I had seen that foot before; or one so very like it, that the resemblance was cheating me. This could hardly be. With the exception of its fellow, the foot of which I was thinking could have no counterpart on the prairies: it must be the same? At first, my recollections of it were but vague. I remembered the foot associated with some ludicrous incidents; but what they were, or when and where they had occurred, I could not say. Certainly I had seen it somewhere; but where? No matter: the foot recalled no unpleasant associations. I felt satisfied it was a <i>friendly</i> one; and was now more anxious than ever of overtaking its sesquipedalian owner.</p> <p>After proceeding a short distance, the shoe-tracks again became too indistinct to be followed farther. By quartering, however, we came upon them once more—at a place where the impressions were deep and clearly defined. Once more the immense foot rose upon the <i>retina</i> of my memory—this time more vividly—this time enabling me to <i>place</i> it: for I now remembered many an odd incident that had secured it a corner on the page of my recollections. Sticking through a stirrup with an enormous Mexican Spur on its heel—its owner mounted on a horse thin and rawboned as himself—I remembered the foot, as well as the limbs and body to which it was attached. Beyond a doubt, the tall fugitive we were following was an old fellow campaigner—a veteran of the “Rifle Rangers!”</p> <p>The figure, as seen through the telescope, confirmed me in the belief. The long limbs, arms, and neck—the thin, angular body—all were characteristics of the bodily architecture of Jephthah Bigelow. I no longer doubted that the taller of the two men was my old follower “Jeph Bigelow,” or “Sure-shot,” as his Ranger comrades had christened him; and appropriate was the designation—for a surer shot than Jeph never looked through the hind-sights of a rifle. Who the little man might turn out to be, I could not guess—though I was not without some recollections of a figure resembling his. I remembered a certain Patrick, who was also a “mimber of the corpse,” and whose <i>build</i> bore a close resemblance to that of him seen between the trams of the barrow. My conjecture as to who the men were, increased my desire to overtake them. If the tall man should turn out to be Sure-shot, a rifle would be added to our strength worth a dozen ordinary guns; and, considering the risk we were running—in danger of losing our scalps every hour in the day—it was of no small importance that we should join company with the deserters.</p> <p>We made every exertion, therefore, to come up with them—my comrade employing all the lore of the backwoods, in his effort to recover their traces. The new footmarks we had discovered, though lost the instant after, had served one good purpose. They indicated the general direction which the two men had followed; and this was an important point to be ascertained. We found another index in the trees. These in most places stood thickly together; and it was only here and there that an object of such breadth as a wheelbarrow could pass <i>conveniently</i> between their trunks. Carried upon the shoulders, it would be an awkward load with which to squeeze through any tight place; and it was reasonable to conclude that only the more open aisles of the forest would be followed. This enabled us to make pretty sure of the route taken; and, after trusting to such guidance for several hundred yards, we had the satisfaction to light once more upon the shoe-tracks. Again only a short distance were we able to follow them; but they confirmed our belief that we were still on the right trail. My comrade had suggested that the man who carried the barrow “wud soon tire o’ totin’ it:” and this proved to be the case. On striking into an old buffalo-path, our eyes were once more gladdened by the sight of the wheel-track—plainly imprinted in the mud.</p> <p>“Our prospecting” was for the time at an end. The barrow-track continued along the buffalo-path; and we were able to follow it, almost as fast as our legs could carry us. Even after it had grown too dark for us to see the track of the wheel, we were not disconcerted. We could follow it by the <i>feel</i>—stooping only at intervals to make sure that it was still among our feet. In this way we had travelled, to the full distance of a mile from the place where our horses had been left, when all at once the barrow-track gave out. The buffalo-path continued on; but no barrow had passed over it, unless carried as before. This was improbable, however; and we were forced to the conclusion, that the two men had turned off, by some side-path we had not observed.</p> <p>While looking for this, a sound reached our ears, that resembled the murmur of a distant waterfall; but, listening more attentively, we could distinguish in it a different intonation. We at once moved in the direction whence the noise came; and before we had advanced a hundred yards through the thickly standing trees, we were aware that what we heard was the sound of human voices. Another hundred yards brought us within hearing of words—at the same time that a luminous reflection cast upwards upon the trees, indicated that there was a fire at no great distance off. The underwood hindered us from seeing the fire; but guided by its gleam, we continued to advance. After making another long reach through the leafy cover, we got the fire well under our eyes, as well as those who had kindled it. We had no conjecture as to whether we had been following the true track, or whether it was the two runaway travellers we had <i>treed</i>. The point was determined by an object seen standing close to the fire, in the full glare of its ruddy light. Need I say it was the wheelbarrow?</p> <hr /></div> <div class="bodytext"> <div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />

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